


Reign

by DealingDearie



Category: Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DealingDearie/pseuds/DealingDearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki had only ever wanted three things, and none of them were found on the golden, alluring throne of Asgard, but that didn't stop him from taking it. *'Thor 2' spoilers*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reign

It wasn't the sudden urge, or the immediate thought, or the slow, sneaking need that took hold of Loki.

It wasn't a petty lust for vengeance, or a selfish want, or a small, fleeting suspicion that he was too far gone to give up.

He'd had the opportunity all along, when Frigga's death served as the ultimate catalyst for both his rage and his demise, and even the loss of his mother only furthered his goals at attaining the throne-which was something he'd never truly, honestly wanted.

Equality, compassion, pride. That was what Loki had for so long desired, so immensely and tiringly and longingly, forever only just grasping it before it slipped through his fingers.

He'd nearly gained equality, throughout his long childhood with Thor, tagging along on so many adventures and hunts and sparring lessons, always hoping to be on level ground with the blonde prince. Thor had always been so hopeful, yet so horribly naïve, and the bright oceans living deep within his eyes-his blind, ignorant eyes- had always found a way to charm the entire kingdom, and Loki was left, rejected, to see it play out, there to tag along and watch and never be a part of anything.

Compassion had come from Frigga, on the days that tears burned his eyes, or when he just couldn't perform a spell to his liking, or on the eves that his premature, haunting nightmares seeped far into his waking hours and shook him to the core. The ghostly touch of her arms, soft and warm and so very, very welcome, was still felt on his skin, the memory of her squeezing, needed hugs and slow, methodic carding of her slender fingers through his inky, tousled hair playing vividly in his mind. He could still see her, if he concentrated, if he focused just long enough to form an image of her face, smiling and laughing and gazing so lovingly at him, in his mind's eye. He could even let his magic do the work for him, shaping from his mental picture a mere illusion of how he'd last seen her, hair pinned up and eyes teary as he'd grasped at her hands, fingers falling through empty air. Loki found himself thinking of that now, watching in his memories as her image faded in a flash of light, and he cursed himself for the weakness, for the pricking sensation in his eyes, and the fast, aching pound of his heart.

He'd wanted to see Odin's pride, and for once directed at him, but the day had never come, and the ice in the All-Father's voice chilled him. There truly was a breaking point, a line that shouldn't be crossed, and Loki had broken down and crossed it long ago. And so, it wasn't even his desire that lurked behind his actions, but the private realization that Thor could never rule in Odin's stead, and that dawning reality simmered and settled and blossomed into a plan.

He'd never risk his life completely, and clones were far too handy to not take advantage of, but he still felt the phantom pain of being run through by Algrim, an agonized groan escaping his lips as he watched his duplicate get skewered. For Thor to think he was truly dead, well that was just a perk, and it wasn't hard to take the form of a random guard, bestowing upon Odin the news just to see his reaction.

But there was only emptiness and a wary, unsurprised kind of expectation in the king's voice, and Loki felt a burrowed, deep-seeded anger surge within him, his doubts and his apprehension dissipating as he made up his mind. Yes, Thor would be a horrible king, far too spineless and sentimental and hesitant, and Odin was too proud to give up the throne to anyone but his golden prince. Death, and only death, would be the one solution, and Loki, completely and wholly and entirely, was all too ready to make it happen. The man was already frail, with a secret, fading health, and was so unsuspecting of his own guard that it was almost laughable.

The connection, if any, that Loki had once felt with his former father was gone, empty, and he slipped a knife from his sleeve to stab Odin in the chest, between the ribs and through the heart-a quick death. Odin let out a gasp and fell forward, slumped against Loki, and the trickster debated on whether or not to show his true face, so that the king could look upon his murderer, but Frigga's voice, lulling and soothing, echoed in his head, the only consciousness that remained within him, and he let the All-Father die oblivious, and immediately hid the body with his magic, taking Odin's form and basking in the weight of Gungnir in his palm.

He was the only one that could protect Asgard correctly, without that foolish softness clouding his judgment. He was the only one who could deliver justice to its enemies, and bring peace to its allies.

Thor could waste his life with the mortal, watch her wither more and more every day, and live out her days on Midgard, but Loki would remain seated on the throne, and no one, not even his dear, soft-hearted brother, would ever know.

Watching the thunder god pad softly down the corridor leading off from the throne room, Loki smiled and murmured his thanks, Thor's red cape billowing majestically after him until he was out of sight, past the golden walls and ageless structures.

Loki could live without Frigga's compassion, and could survive without Odin's pride, and could bear to be inferior to Thor- _if_ it meant sitting on the throne.

The scepter was cold in Loki's hand, reminding him of the icy touch, long imprinted in his deepest and darkest memories, of a Frost Giant, now years past, and he couldn't tell where he began and where it ended.

 _Long live the king,_ Loki thought briefly, his emerald eyes shining in the shadows of the hall.

_Long live, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)
> 
> All rights go to their respective owners.


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